The Red Horse of Grok-Gnagok
THE RED HORSE OF GROK-GNAGOK A Short Account by Tony the Dwarf - It is as a result of my various travels across the Desert Realm that I wish to convey an account on the myth that is “The Red Horse of Grok-Gnagok”. As a child I was immensely enthralled by the myths and legends of the mainland. However, as enthralled as I was by these stories, none captivated me as much as those from my own homeland, Khusir. Razal Gohor – the Red Horse of Grok-Gnagok – is one of those stories. It is rumoured that this is more than a story, that it is in fact a real phenomenon that one can see every twelfth year when the sun is painted red as blood. It is said that when this happens every twelfth year, a horse as red as the sun itself gallops across the dunes of the Imzada Desert. Legends also say that this horse is the aspect of Khusir Mórhol, one of the long-gone kings of Grok-Gnagok – the capital city of the Desert Realm. Across the Desert Realm, many do – in fact – believe that this rare phenomenon is real. Perhaps the Western world may judge me foolish for my unparalleled enthusiasm for this legend of yore, yet I could not retain my childish excitement when rumour found their way to my ears that a Toniokeen dwarf had witnessed the horse with his very own eyes. As an experienced writer and travelling historian, I have learned to sharpen my ears to pick up the quietest of small talk, every whisper that is uttered in conversations. I have also learned that criticism of the sources is not to be taken for granted. However, on this very occasion I had also overheard that this man had returned to his people shock. Trembling and sweating like a madman, but with eyes that when one gazed into them, the knowledge to be discovered was bottomless. Although people talk, even the isolated desert dwarves, I could not recall ever hearing a rumour of the Red Horse in such a manner. Of course, I could not be sure if this was in fact true, but I do believe – even though I hate to admit it – that my childish fantasies got hold of me just this once, neglecting my long training in Grerroria. I therefore decided to approach the two women, begging pardon for overhearing their conversation, and questioned them about the rumour. I asked if the sun truly had been painted in blood, for I had just returned to Grok-Gnagok yesterday after visiting my friend and former professor – J.R. Crowas – in Grerroria. I also told them that since I spent most of my days on the mainland, I had also lost track of the Solar Calendar of which we Desert Dwarves utilize. I also asked if they knew if the Toniokeen was still residing in the city. In response I learned that the sun had been red as blood, and as far as they knew the dwarf still resided in Toniock, but in deep shock after what he had witnessed. I made up my mind that my year-long holiday from writing would have to be put on-hold for this very occasion, for I found it simply too intriguing. I then returned to my quarters in my family’s home and packed the essentials of my belongings in a bag. Bidding farewell to my parents, I made my way to my horse and set riding for Toniock. It was a four-day ride, and my investigations after the Toniokeen in the city began instantly with my arrival. As I followed the road I could not hinder myself from marvelling once again at the magnificent power of this unique city – a city which was built downwards in a circular fashion. It was not challenging to find the man I searched for, for he had rapidly become the talk of the city. This, I must admit, I thought odd. Often when common folk claim to have seen Gods or the eldritch abominations rumoured to reside in Loreandra, they are laughed at and dismissed. However, not this time. This reinforced my suspicion that this man might truly have seen the aspect of a dead and fabled God. The man lived in Lower Toniock – a level of the city where most of the middle-class resided. I knocked on his door and was answered by a cautious, female voice. She ordered me in a slightly impolite manner to go away and not bother them. I, however rude, did not move and instead introduced myself as an acknowledged historian who wished to speak to her father about Razal Gohor. Unfortunately, it was not that easy and as she was about to call the guards yet again for they had been plagued by visits from other so-called “historians”. I heard her father tell her to let me in. The house, as with every other house in Toniock, was carved into the sandstone. I entered and saw her father sitting there. A middle-aged Dwarf, by the likes of it fifty years of age, sat on a pillow facing the door. I quickly noticed that his pupils no longer bore colour, indicating blindness. We greeted each other in Imzadi, and he beckoned for me to come. To me it did not seem like the man was in shock, so perhaps that rumour was false. I sat down on my knees and fished out my pen, an inkwell and a piece of parchment from my bag. With my writer’s tools now fully present, I told him I was ready to initiate the interview. I had intended to ask him what his name was, but he had taken the initiative to begin the interview. I remember his words so clearly, I do not believe I will ever forget them. “I have seen the Red Horse”, he told me with such power and truthfulness in his gravelly voice that it sent shivers down my spine. Even recalling this now arouses the same biological effects on my body. “''He galloped across the Imzada Desert with the boiling sun casting an awe-inspiring silhouette over ''him. Khusir Mórhol, deceased in humanly flesh, yet alive. Appearing on the land he governed and moulded over decades, and which we – his children – have inherited since he left us. Some in this city believe me a madman, other don’t. Those who believe have not forgotten our King and have accommodated him into their hearts. I tell you the Horse is real. God King Khusir is only dead on our plane of existence.” “When I stood there crying at the sight of the Horse on the dunes, it ceased to gallop. It merely stood there, and then it turned its neck so that I appeared in its field of vision. How terrible yet majestic eyes! Red as the sun itself! Then a voice entered my head. It told me of great events that had happened, great events that would come. But alas, it took my sight and I collapsed on the sand. Liksha here,” he gestured at his daughter who sat on a chair nearby, captivated as I by his tale, “found me eventually and brought me back here.” “I must ask, what did the Horse tell you?” “I only remember what King Khusir wanted me to remember. His exact words to me I cannot recall. However, I do know that he told me that when the time has come, I will remember it all. And I will warn the population of Notreál when the time is right.” The interview lasted for quite some time, but I have chosen only to include the important parts as you can read. Symbolically, when it was nearing dusk I asked if Liksha could show me the place she found her father. This she did. When I arrived at the exact location she had found him, I squatted and grabbed a handful of sand. To believe that he had truly seen the Horse! I looked at the horizon where the sun was slowly setting. What was to come? What did King Khusir warn Liksha’s father about? This I did not know. It is said that historians should not believe in prophesies, myths or legends for it is only speculation, but my conclusion remains the same. The Horse is real. This account of the Red Horse of Grok-Gnagok was one of Tony’s unpublished works. For many years he attempted to find a publishing firm willing to do his wish, but all refused due to the famous dwarf’s lack of credible sources and evidence in this work. Liksha’s father was also murdered shortly after his interview with Tony. Therefore, it remained in Tony’s quarters in Grok-Gnagok, gathering dust until his death in year 67 A.A. '' Category:Accounts